Heated Harmonies

by Alexandra Warren

  “Yeah. What you said,” Kelly added with a wave of her hand as if I had thought it through even more than she had. But I knew her method was golden, which meant we had to put it into action as soon as possible.

  And even though she was clearly worn out from our full day of interviews, I had no choice but to drag her out of her chair when I said, “Get up, Kelz. We have work to do.”

  Gabriel

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Zalayah had accused me of using her, had accused me of still fuckin’ around with Shy, hadn’t talked to me since our run-in at The Max that she probably couldn’t even remember considering how gone she was at the time, and now she wanted me to do her album?

  When I signed for the parcel with the record label’s world-famous tiger logo spread across the envelope, I expected it to be some sort of exit package for the work I had put in on the first two songs since I more than likely wouldn’t be returning to the studio. But now that I had skimmed through the thick packet of papers more than once, I realized this was Zalayah the artist doing what she had to do to get what she wanted. Doing what she had to do to get me to work for her so that she could continue forward with the original plans for her album, even if that meant sacrificing her feelings - good and bad - towards me.

  Naturally, I wondered what process she had went through to get to this point. If she really believed I was using her, why would she willingly put me in the position to continue doing it? If she really believed I was still messing around with Shy, why would she be so open to going back into what had become an intimate space for us in the studio?

  Maybe now that some time had passed, she realized she had been wrong all along. Or maybe she had just… moved on from whatever connection we had established, deciding it was best to keep things professional which meant there was really no point for me to agree to do it since I was never interested in doing the label’s work from the jump. I had only agreed to do the first couple of songs for my own selfish interests in her after discovering how talented she actually was along with my commitment to helping my brother advance his career. Then of course, new reasons had bloomed the more I got to know her which only made me want to help her out in any way I could, even if that meant continuing to do the album. But now that she was practically guaranteeing all of that would be null and void with a strict focus on the music and the music only, it seemed… pointless.

  I was getting ready to crumble the new contract up and throw it into the trash when there was a knock on the door that interrupted me. So instead, I sat it on the table before making my way to the door and pulling it open to find my favorite girl on the other side.

  “Mama, what you doin’ around here? I thought you only came out of the house for church and groceries,” I teased as I pulled her into a quick hug, the familiar scent of wildflowers that she carried with her everywhere she went immediately comforting me.

  But there was nothing comforting about the side eye she threw my way when she replied, “I also come out of the house when my first born takes too long to come see about his mother. And now I see why.”

  I stepped to the side to let her in, closing the door behind her as I asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She took a quick peek back my way, her face scrunched as she put a gentle hand against my cheek. “You look… stressed. And this apartment is a disaster, my goodness.”

  While I hadn’t gotten a chance to prep my apartment in the way I usually would when I knew guests were coming by - as in, throwing everything into a closet to deal with later - this time around, I had the perfect scapegoat. “Blame that on your baby boy. This is his version of straightening up.”

  “Well apparently I didn’t teach him a thing,” she said with a wave of her hand, picking at the random assortment of snack wrappers on the couch to make herself some room to sit. And once she finally got comfortable, she wasted no time asking, “Now tell me what’s going on with you? I can see it in your eyes that something just ain’t right.”

  I made myself cozy on the loveseat opposite of hers, spreading my arms across the back of the couch as I told her, “Mama, I’m good. Just work stuff, I guess.”

  “Kids driving you crazy down at the center?” she asked with no knowledge of the other work I had been putting in down at the studio, though it wasn’t the music that had me stressed.

  It was her.

  All her.

  But since my mother wasn’t hip to all that, I stayed on the path she had already created when I answered, “Always. I swear we weren’t anywhere near as bad as they are these days.”

  She immediately brushed me off. “Oh, please. Y’all were worse. You just didn’t have all of the cell phones and social media to keep a record of it like they do now.”

  “That’s probably true. How have you been feeling though? You aight?” I asked, taking a better look at her to check for the tell-all signs that something was up.

  While my mother had been mostly stable health wise as of late, I could never forget the times in the past when she’d relapse on her drug habits, when she’d fall into a deep depression over what happened with her career, when she’d drink herself unconscious to avoid dealing with the demons. But today, she only smiled, leaning forward to give me a pat on the knee when she answered, “I’m always alright, baby. I still don’t know why you two boys choose to worry about me so much.”

  I leaned forward to join her, taking her hand as I insisted, “Because we love you, that’s all.”

  “Love me so much that you’ve been hiding this music thing you got going on from me?” she asked, her eyebrow piqued as she watched me go stiff, the reaction enough for her to continue, “Mmhmm. I recognized that logo from a mile away.”

  Just the thought of bringing back bad memories for her made me panic as I told her, “If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t.”

  But once again, her face only scrunched with confusion. “Now why in the world would I not want you to do it? You’ve been gifted in music since the day you were born.”

  “I know, but… after all you went through, I just thought…”

  “You shouldn’t have thought about me at all, Gabriel. This is your life, your opportunity. What I had was what I had, and it will always be what it was. But you have a talent that can’t be taught. There’s no good reason for you to hold back on putting it to good use.”

  “Even if it’s under Nigel’s label?” I asked, knowing his involvement was part of why I thought she’d be against me doing it.

  But she only nodded, her voice calm when she repeated, “Even if it’s under Nigel’s label. Hell, especially under his label. Might as well follow in your mother’s old sparkly footsteps. Just make sure you keep your nose clean while you’re at it.”

  I immediately jumped to her defense when I insisted, “That wasn’t your fault. I mean, he shouldn’t have…”

  “It was my fault. I did it, I continued to do it, and in the end, it cost me everything. But you know what it also did? It gave me you. And you? You saved my life. My first child. My handsome son. My little hit-maker,” she replied with an extra squeeze of my hand.

  I chuckled, shaking my head as I told her, “I don’t know about all that.”

  She dropped my hand as she stood up from the couch, putting a hand on her hip to challenge, “Oh yeah? Let me hear what you’ve been working on then. I’ll decide for myself.”

  I peeked up from my seat as if to ask, “You serious?”. And her face remained intact, letting me know she absolutely was. So I made my way from the couch to our little makeshift studio area, firing up the system to play the last thing that I had worked on which was Zalayah’s song that I, for whatever reason, couldn’t stop making little tweaks to even though she had already released it.

  My mother almost immediately caught her groove, bobbing her head as she asked, “Who is this singing? Baby girl can blow.”

  “That’s Zalayah,” I answered as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to hint at any involvement
that would surely make her go wild with questions.

  But my mother’s compliments made it a little harder to keep it together when she added, “I knew she could sing, but I didn’t know she could sing like this. Reminds me of myself when I was in my prime. Singing about a love I thought I knew and all.”

  “Yeah, she’s really talented. And beautiful,” I quietly added on.

  Though it was clear my mother had heard me, snapping her head back to repeat, “Beautiful? Sounds like someone has a little crush brewing.”

  I shook my head, mad at myself for even mentioning it. But now that it was out, there was no way my mother wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it. So instead of trying to cover my ass, I told her, “I wouldn’t say all that. She’s just... I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Yeah, we usually don’t when we first feel for somebody. It just kind of… exists; sits on our chest, runs through our mind at all the wrong times, weighs on our shoulders until we either find the words to act on it or it fades away.”

  My lips tightened before I released a heavy sigh, knowing she had hit the nail right on the head. While it should’ve been easy for me to write Zalayah off, I just couldn’t shake her. Even that night at The Max, I had felt drawn to her enough to go see about her regardless of how she felt about me in return. And now that she was trying to get me back on the album...

  “I think I’d rather if it faded away.”

  My mother immediately wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me in tightly as she gushed, “Aww, don’t say that. You could be blocking your blessings. And you know I don’t play that shit.”

  “Mama!” I shouted, caught off-guard by her use of what she considered a “heavy” cuss word.

  But she acted unfazed, shrugging when she replied, “What? I’m just sayin’. If you’re gonna play the game of life, at least play by the rules. And who sets those rules?”

  “The Man above,” I answered with a smirk.

  “That’s right,” she said with a proud smile before continuing to explain, “So if He’s telling you you need to do this music, work with this particular artist, work under this particular label, then that’s just what it is. You hear me?”

  I nodded, matching her smile as I agreed, “Yes ma’am. I got you.”

  “Now give me somethin’ to flow to.”

  I almost choked at that, turning to see her whole face when I asked, “Excuse me?”

  But she was completely serious, waving her hand towards the sound system as she said, “You heard me. Put me a beat on, or make me a fresh one. It’s time for Constella to get her groove back.”

  I bursted with laughter, shaking my head as I dialed up something I had started working on for Zalayah before things came to a halt between us. And maybe that was my fault. Maybe I had gotten too ahead of myself, gotten too comfortable with what was happening, gotten too invested in what could be developing outside of the music.

  But now, if she wanted to go down the professional route, then, well, I was going to keep it professional too.

  &

  I got to the studio right on time, hoping to avoid spending even an extra second in the space that was bound to be toxic for as long as the album would take. But since I knew it was only as toxic as we made it, I tried to sound as normal as possible when I approached Zalayah and asked, “What up? You ready to work?”

  She seemed startled by my presence as if she wasn’t expecting me, her eyes drinking me in before she let out an audible gulp. But she quickly recovered, sitting up a little straighter in her chair as she stammered, “Uh… yeah. Of… of course. Let’s do it.”

  Instead of focusing on her the way I was tempted to after not seeing her in what felt like forever, I made myself comfortable in my usual chair and got straight to work. But it only took a few minutes for me to realize that that process wasn’t going to be as easy for her, her eyes practically glued to the side of my face as if she was recommitting it to memory.

  “You know I can’t work like that, Zalayah,” I stated sternly without looking at her, knowing it would’ve been a self-served punishment to do so since I wasn’t in a position to show my true appreciation.

  She shook herself out of her trance, standing up so that she could reach across the mixing board when she answered, “I’m sorry. I mean, I wasn’t doing it on purpose. I just thought this arrangement might sound better with a little bit of… this.”

  I would’ve been lying if I said the two horns she had added wasn’t a good choice. In fact, they provided a perfect funk feel to what would’ve otherwise been an ordinary R&B beat. But since I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea by having some overly-impressed, emotional reaction, I only shrugged when I said, “That’ll work.”

  She went back to her seat, clearly satisfied with her contribution, though she still continued to study me from a distance. And I suppose since I wasn’t giving her the same attention in return, she decided to force some engagement by asking, “So, how have you been?”

  “Good,” I answered shortly as I vibed to the music, hoping she’d catch the hint that I wasn’t interested in a conversation.

  But she didn’t, continuing to ask, “And Grayson?”

  I pressed pause on the system, turning her way to tell her, “Look, Zalayah. You ain’t gotta pretend with me. You ain’t gotta small talk me up. You ain’t gotta serve me the nice girl persona. It’s cool. I’m good. I’m just here to work.”

  She held her hands up, breathing out an, “O… kay. Fine.” Before continuing to say, "But let me at least tell you thank you. For agreeing to do this. And for… a few weeks back, when you helped Elijah.”

  While I was surprised to hear she even knew I had been a part of the situation, thinking back on it only annoyed me since, “You should probably get some better friends.”

  “Or just friends in general,” she muttered, casting her eyes down to her hands as she twiddled them together while gnawing at the corner of her lip, her words reminding me of some of our earlier conversations about how her career had hindered her ability to make friends.

  It was tempting as hell to go back down that same route, but I didn’t imagine it ending with anything other than me being sucked right back into her aura. So instead, I decided to soften the blow by changing the subject back to where it should’ve been from the beginning. “You got some lyrics that’ll work with this beat?”

  Her eyes brightened just slightly when she answered, “Yeah, I think so.” Pulling her phone from her purse and taking a few swipes across the screen before insisting, “Play it again and let me know what you think.”

  I was surprised she was even interested in my opinion. But in the spirit of keeping things as professional as they were already supposed to be, I followed her instructions to a tee, pressing the button to restart what I had of the beat so far from the top. Then I watched as she got in the zone, bobbing her head to the rhythm before starting her first verse.

  “Baby you’re the bomb and you don’t even know. You make me explode in and out, and yet I can’t let it show. The way my heart is beatin’ for you, yeah there ain’t nothin’ slow. The fireworks ‘bout to go off, so come and stand in the glow… or something like that.”

  While I was tasked with giving my opinion, I couldn’t help but first ask, “What’s that all about?”

  There was something about the lyrics that felt very… personal, very familiar. And that fact seemed even more apparent when she explained, “You know when you first meet someone and the chemistry is just… electric. So you try to play it off, act like you don’t feel the sparks, avoid all the signs no matter how obvious until it all sort of, blows up in your face. Like dynamite.”

  I nodded, trying to ignore the extra throbbing in my chest when I replied, “Yeah. I… I got you.”

  “So it’s good? You think it goes? Or should I save it for something else?” she asked, leaning forward in her chair to find my eyes.

  But I refused to meet hers, knowing how quickly I’d get lost in
them when I answered, “Nah. I think it’s perfect. I mean, it should work. We’ll see what it sounds like from the booth.”

  “Okay. Well how about this for a chorus?” she asked, waiting for the beat to come back around when she sang, “I’m ready, I’m ready, I want to go off. So baby let me, just let me, let me go off. I say, I’m ready, I’m ready, it’s time to go off. So baby let me, just set me, go ‘head set me off.”

  This time I couldn’t help but turn her way when I said, “Yo, I can’t even fake. That shits fire. No pun intended.”

  Of course, the vibrations from her little grin went straight to my chest when she answered, “I’m glad you think so.”

  It was as if the air in the room suddenly went still as we both took in everything we had missed about each other during the time that had passed. And even though I shouldn’t have been looking at her in that way, I couldn’t help but gaze at the lips I desperately wanted to kiss, the lips that had led to a much greater time back at her crib when things between us couldn’t have been better. But just like that was only a moment, this was too, Zalayah being the first to snap out of it when she suggested, “So! Should we go ahead and record?”

  And while I wished we could’ve instead capitalized on the chemistry that was already beginning to simmer between us, I knew it was in my best interest to answer, “Yeah. Let’s make it happen.”

  Zalayah

  I was exhausted, though it wasn’t the work - the songwriting, the composing, the singing, the ad-libbing, the redo’s, the mixing and mastering, the other usual shit outside of music - that had me beat.

  It was him.

  Only him.